Scare Tactics
by StarBellySneetch
Summary: If a bomb couldn't stop Brennan and Booth, then perhaps fear could.
1. Chapter 1

Brennan sat up in her bed abruptly with a strange taste in her mouth and a sick feeling that something wasn't quite right. The bedside clock read four o'clock in the morning, but the last she remembered, it was seven in the evening and she was getting home from work. She tried to remember whether or not she'd been drinking but her mind was frighteningly blank. Brennan took a deep, determined breath and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Her feet hit the floor with a loud _clunk_. She was still wearing the boots she had worn to work. Glancing over herself, she realized that she was also wearing the clothes and jewelry she had worn to work. Her heart froze in her chest. There was no chance that she had gotten into bed without at least taking off her shoes. Someone had placed her there.

Brennan swallowed hard. There was little she liked less than not being in control of herself. How much had she drunk last night that someone would have had to place her in bed? She stood stiffly in her dark room, frantically shuffling through her scattered memories of the previous night.

No, she decided suddenly. There was no way she had been drinking last night. She had work in the morning and she was in the middle of an important case with Booth. She would _never_ get drunk in the middle of an on-going investigation. Booth and Brennan always at least waited until the case was solved to take celebratory shots.

_Booth_, she thought, relaxing slightly for the first time since she'd awoken so suddenly. They had eaten dinner together last night. He had to know what happened. Holding on to this sliver of hope and attempting to ignore the way her heart was hammering in her chest, Brennan's hand went to her bedside table where she always kept her cell phone.

Her hand met the smooth, empty surface. It wasn't there. Brennan's eyes swept her dark bedroom, finally resting on the chest of drawers directly across from her bed. Her cell phone sat on top, propped upright, as though it had been deliberately placed there.

Feeling almost as if she were in some sort of bizarre dream, Brennan walked to her dresser. Her hand stretched out in front of her and she ignored its slight tremor as her fingers closed around the familiar shape of her phone. The minutes she lifted the phone off the drawers she noticed a distinct difference in its weight- it was too light.

Transfixed by the surreal nature of the situation, Brennan flipped the phone around in her palm. The battery was gone. Her mind not yet processing the situation, Brennan's fingers still dialed Booth's numbers on the unresponsive buttons. The phone's blank screen glared up at her.

Her hand now shaking too severely to ignore, Brennan placed the phone back where she had found it, and finally admitted to herself that she was afraid. Whoever had put her to bed last night didn't want her to be able to contact anyone. Whoever had put her to bed last night could still be in her apartment.

A shiver ran up her spine at this realization, but a resolve also hardened within her. She'd never been one to succumb to fear, and she wasn't about to start now. Bending down, Brennan removed her shoes and walked back towards her bed, her bare feet silent against the wooden floor. She crouched by her bed and carefully slid her arm between the mattresses, her fingers searching deliberately.

Her fingers finally closed around the cool metal of her gun and her lips curved in a tiny smile of victory as she felt some sense of control return. It wasn't until the gun was fully liberated from between her mattress that she realized that just like the cell phone, it was far too light. It wasn't loaded. Feeling suddenly like she might get sick, the gun slid from her limp fingers and landed softly on the bed.

Panic set in as she ripped open drawers with unsteady hands. She tossed out the contents of the drawers, barely acknowledging the mess she was making. When she found the small cardboard box she knew in an instant what she would find, but still forced herself to open it and stare at its empty insides. Someone had taken her ammunition.

Her mind went blank with fear. _You aren't helpless_, she screamed at herself silently. _Do something!_ But her palms were sweating and her knees were shaking so hard that she had to grab the corners of the bed in order to pull herself to her feet. Her eyes darted frantically throughout the room, searching for something to defend herself with, but she saw nothing useful.

_I don't need a weapon to defend myself_, she told herself, but this failed to relieve her erratic heart rate as she crept shakily towards her bedroom door. _I could get back in bed…_ she thought irrationally. _I could wait until morning…_ But if there was thing her pride wouldn't tolerate, it was hiding.

Taking a deep, trembling breath, Brennan placed her hands on the door and pushed it open. The hallway was as dark as her room. It didn't look any different than it did any other morning of her life, yet… something was off. Someone had definitely been here. She walked stiffly down the hall, trying to be quiet, her hands clenched in fists and held at the ready.

She rounding the corner quickly, prepared to fight, but was met with an empty living room. She lifted the landline phone off the hook long enough to hear the absence of a dial tone before making her way into the kitchen. Her hand fumbled for the light switch and she stood like a deer in the head lights as the kitchen flooded with light.

Her chest tightened with panic as she was momentarily blinded, but her eyes soon adjusted and she found herself in an empty room. Just as she was releasing the breath that was caught in her lungs, she noticed the manila envelope.

She moved towards the envelope almost in a daze and reached out to touch it with one shaking hand. Her name was written on it in black ink. No stamp, no address- just _Temperance Brennan_ written in an unfamiliar script. Almost out of its own volition, her hand reached towards her letter opener and she sliced through the yellow packaging.

Brennan slanted the envelope towards the counter and plastic wrappings slid out. As her fingers gingerly unfolded the plastic to reveal white bone and oozing blood that stained her countertop, Brennan realized that she knew exactly who had been in her apartment.

She didn't explicitly recall running out her door, but suddenly she was outside and the cold early morning air whipped around her as she gripped the public phone in her still shaking hands. When his confused, sleepy voice finally picked up, Brennan found that she wasn't sure what to say.

"Hello?" Booth's voice rasped over the phone. "Who is this?"

His voice was losing its sleepiness and beginning to sound annoyed. Brennan knew she had to speak up or else he'd hang up, but the stress of her morning had finally hit her. Hazily, she realized that tears were rolling down her cheeks and ragged sobs were escaping from her mouth.

"Bones?" Booth suddenly said, his voice sounding surprised and fearful. "Is that you?"

His voice brought her back to reality. She was huddle over a payphone outside her apartment at the crack of dawn, letting out small, panicked sobs. Shame and embarrassment swept through her, and she vainly tried to control herself.

"Bones, answer me!" Booth was suddenly shouting into the phone.

Brennan swallowed hard, wiping her cheeks clean roughly.

"Booth…" she whispered hoarsely into the phone.

A rush of air sounded into the phone as though Booth had let out a deep breath.

"Where are you?" Booth asked.

The tenderness in his voice barely masked his fear. Brennan's fingers gripped the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white and the cheap phone creaked softly in protest.

"I'm outside my apartment," she replied, hating the waver in her voice.

"Are you hurt?" Booth questioned sharply.

_I'm not hurt…_ Brennan reminded herself. _You're scaring Booth, just tell him you're fine. Call the police, let them deal with this. There's no need to drag Booth out of bed._ But her voice betrayed her and all she managed to squeak out was a weak "no."

There was a brief silence on the phone line, and for a minute all Brennan could hear was the still frantic thump of her heart and her own ragged breaths.

"I'm on my way," Booth said suddenly and decisively. "Stay on the phone, okay Bones? I'm coming."


	2. Chapter 2

Booth's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly they almost hurt. He looked as though he had dressed in the dark, which in fact, he had. His hair was standing on end from sleep and from his fingers running through it with agitation and worry. He gritted his teeth as he maneuvered a squeaky turn that without doubt, left black tire tracks on the street.

He momentarily lifted a hand off the wheel to check his cell phone, but it hadn't rang since Brennan had weakly mumbled something about running out of quarters. His overactive mind couldn't help but run through multiple, ridiculous scenarios about why his partner would be calling him at four o'clock in the morning, on a payphone, crying. The obscene hour of the call wasn't unusual in itself; it was the crying that made him jump out of bed and travel half-way across town at the crack of dawn.

No, he thought. It wasn't even the crying. It was the _way_ she had been crying. He was close with Brennan, close enough that he had seen her cry on multiple occasions- something that she absolutely would never allow with anyone else. Her usual manner of crying involved a few soft tears that she would quickly swipe away or hide in the folds of his shirt. Her tears were always heartwrenching enough to make Booth do silly things, like buy her a plastic pig or ask an archbishop to call in a positive recommendation for her brother, just to see her smile again.

This time it wasn't like that. His heart clenched as he recalled the breathless sobs that awoke him this morning. She didn't sound upset or hurt or even sad… she sounded afraid, panicked, and confused- three emotions he did not generally associated with his beautiful, fearless partner. He could barely fathom what would have had to happen to make her sound that way.

He felt a sense of foreboding as he pulled up to Brennan's apartment building. The streetlights did little to light the dark early morning streets and he could barely make out the slim figure sitting on the curb. He parallel-parked the SUV recklessly and got out, jogging over. As he approached, Brennan stood tentatively, crossing her arms shakily over her chest, a position that was both vulnerable and defensive.

The ability of speech left him as he got closer and took in her appearance. She was wearing the same thing he'd last seen her in, shoes included, but her clothes were significantly rumpled and disheveled. Her hair was tangled and wild and she pushed it out of her face with trembling fingers. Dark make-up was smeared under haunted, bewildered eyes.

Booth let out his breath in a _whoosh_ that appeared in a cloud of steam in the frigid air and placed his hands on the sides of Brennan's arms. He rubbed them up and down gently, restoring a bit of warmth and comfort. She met his eyes slowly, her teeth brutalizing her bottom lip as she bit it in a familiar act of anxiety.

"Bones…" he said, sounding as confused and unsettled as she looked. "What happened?"

She took a shaky breath and looked away.

"I don't know," she admitted, sounding almost embarrassed.

Her word's caused a freezing sensation to shoot through Booth's chest as he thought about the possible ramifications of her words. He felt Brennan shivering underneath his hands and he swallowed quickly, trying to restore some moisture to his suddenly dry throat.

"Shouldn't we go inside?" he suggested gently, trying to usher her towards the door.

Brennan shook her head so quickly and violently that Booth didn't even question why. He shrugged his arms out of his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. It was almost worrying that she didn't argue, but actually clung to the edges of the jacket, pulling it tighter around her. She sat back down on the edge of the curb and Booth slowly followed suit. They sat in silence for a minute, the cold wind stinging their faces, before Brennan finally began to speak.

"I don't remember going to bed last night," she said hoarsely. "The last I remember… you dropped me off after dinner. I think… I had some tea. I did the dishes…"

Her voice tapered off.

"And then?" Booth prompted softly.

"I woke up," Brennan told him, sounding as if she almost didn't believe it herself. "I was in my bed, under the covers, wearing these clothes. My cell phone… it was propped up on my dresser. The batteries were gone."

Fear wasn't an emotion that came easily for Brennan. She swallowed hard a few times, clenching her teeth to stop her lips from trembling. Booth shifted closer, so that their shoulders were touching and casually slung an arm over her shoulders, lending her warmth and strength. She didn't openly acknowledge the gesture, but he felt her lean into him slightly.

"My gun… Booth, it was where it always was but someone had unloaded it. I have more ammunition, but it was gone too. The box was where it was supposed to be, but it was empty. "

She shook her head, and the next time she spoke, a bit of her usual fire had returned to her voice.

"Someone was intentionally trying to scare me," she proclaimed, as though the thought had just occurred to her. "They wanted me to know that they knew where I kept the gun… they wanted to make me feel helpless."

Judging by the sound of her voice, she had felt helpless. Booth tightened his grip on her, anger blossoming inside him.

"Who?" he asked quietly.

He felt a shift in Brennan's demeanor, and she turned to look at him apprehensively. He could tell immediately that he wasn't going to like this. She looked away again, pulling Booth's jacket even tighter around herself.

"There was an envelope on my kitchen counter Booth," she told him quietly. "Manila, just like last time… I didn't look at the bone for long, but I'm almost positive it was a cervical vertebra."

Horrified realization swept through Booth and he stood abruptly, pacing and rubbing a hand over the stubble on his jaw.

"You think Gorgonzola did this?" he asked, his voice coming out sharper than he intended.

She flinched at his tone and he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He reassumed a sitting position beside her and held his head in his hands, gripping his hair almost painfully. Brennan had been alone, unconscious, and completely vulnerable in the hands of a cannibalistic serial killer. He could have done anything to her, and Booth wouldn't even have known until it was too late. He inhaled shakily.

"God Bones…" he half-groaned.

He would have liked to have shot a few ice cream trucks right then and there, but he took one look at Brennan's face and knew that he had to control himself. He stood back up and whipped out his cell phone, dialing with purposefulness.

"We're going to get an FBI team down here, okay Bones?" he told her, trying for a reassuring tone. "Then we're going to the hospital to get you tested for drugs."

Brennan nodded up at him, for once looking relieved that he was taking control of the situation. She half-listened as he barked orders into his cell phone, her mind wandering. It wasn't until Booth was crouched down in front of her, a worried expression on his face and a hand outstretched that she even realized he was done talking. Moving slowly, she slipped her hand into his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

Disturbed by this unusual display of compliancy, Booth cupped her chin and tilted her gaze up to meet his.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

They both knew the answer was no, but as Booth coaxed Brennan into a loose embrace, Brennan suddenly felt like maybe she was.


End file.
